


Talos of Crete

by PrincessFawna



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (and a not-son but that's a different pov), Dirk and his problems, Fatherhood and the strangeness of being a not-father, Gen, Robots, Sawtooth origin story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 08:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessFawna/pseuds/PrincessFawna
Summary: Sawtooth contemplates the reasons for his creation, and what he is to Dirk.Written for the Robots of Homestuck Zine.
Relationships: Sawtooth & Dirk Strider
Kudos: 7





	Talos of Crete

I was born in the wind and sea—sensing the salt on the air, the bright warmth of the sun as it pounded the roof above our heads. I was born to a son, born of a boy who needed me to act as a facsimile of a father, to a boy who hardly understood what he had done to create me, who had followed vague instructions that he had modified with his own touch to bring a life into the world.

A not-father, a not-man, a tool—a guardian.

The boy, at first, had been so unsure of how to conduct himself around another moving being. The only other creatures he had ever seen were types of birds or fish, generally creatures who were far smaller than him. And, for those that were larger, they were so much larger that the boy lacked a way to relate to them, to see himself in them. They were whales, sharks, and imperial drones, all too dangerous to engage with, and so the boy lacked all types of physical companionship.

Except now…he didn’t. I was here. Taller than him, too tall to be a human, but I was the closest thing he had ever reached. And I lived alongside him, in his _home_ , a roommate who needed neither food nor air. I had no way to speak, as he had not yet figured out how to create such, but even when he did, far in the future, I remained quieter than his second creation. His second ‘son’, so to say.

I knew from the moment I first came online that I was not made for mere companionship, despite how much the boy desperately needed it. No, I was to be an ally in combat, a companion that could fight alongside him as he grew older, to cover for his mistakes so that he had a higher chance of surviving—so that he could live to play the Game.

He spoke to me, as he modified me, telling me about how the fights were getting more difficult, the drones more heavily armored. He had the supplies to fight, his human guardian had seen to that, but he lacked the ability to utilize all of that weaponry himself—he needed a robot. A guard dog.

He told me about how he had gotten injured a month ago and how it took almost that entire time to heal. While his arm was in a makeshift sling, he had been building me carefully, knowing that if he was attacked again before he was finished building that he would probably perish. He needed someone watching his back, someone who could help him avoid getting hurt, who could take blows for him, or who could protect him while he himself was recovering—just as the boy had been when he built me.

He asked me if I was alright submitting myself to that task, if I was ready for the sacred duty. How he asked was not entirely genuine, although I would only later learn that through observation of him, the quirk of his lips indicating a slight ironic tinge to his words, but back then I had known no better. I responded the only way I could.

I nodded.

He sighed, relieved, and shoved a baseball cap on my head.

\----

It was hot.

It was always hot, the sun beating down over the ocean, beating down upon the boy and his home mercilessly. Many a time did the boy return home with serious burns marring his skin, and he would peel for days afterward each time he was required to leave our little tower in the middle of the sea.

Oftentimes the boy would stay in his room, curtains drawn to keep the sun away, glued either to a personal project or to his many computerized devices. He had a knack for programming and tinkering, and always kept himself occupied.

Other days, though, he would explore. He would have to, sometimes, to scavenge, or just to bring some differentiation to his life. The other times he spent outside were either fighting or fishing—both of which he did for his life.

My station was the roof, where I could best extend my sensors to feel the airwaves around me, sensing for approaching drones. They always came; they never stopped. Sometimes it would take weeks, or months even, between attacks. But they would always come, and I would always be ready.

My servos struggled with the heat though, and I tried to stick to the shade that shifted over the roof during the course of the day. It was irritating to measure, and to keep adjusting myself while I was stretching my sensors out, but it was necessary to survival, so I did it without complaint. Like the boy, I had to do anything I could to survive.

My tendency to overheat did create a problem though, when an extended fight happened during the hottest part of the day. My metal chassis, kept so carefully cooled by my vigilance in the shade, heated up in mere minutes, overloading my system and causing me to spark and malfunction. Only when the boy had managed to drag me into the shade after the combat was done, my metal limbs screeching horrifically on the asphalt with the movement, was I able to recover. My sensors reactivated and I slowly regained control of myself. I was ashamed—I had failed in my purpose. Despite the difficulty, I should have fared better.

After that, the boy disappeared. I hoped that my lack of care with myself did not trouble him, as I was still accomplishing that which he had created me for. As well as I could, at least, as shame still flooded my servos. Perhaps it would be a liability someday, but if this was all we could do, then we would just have to cope with it, like we did for every other difficult part of this life we knew.

I should have realized that Dirk Strider would not tolerate merely coping with a problem, though—ever the inventor, he would find a way to mitigate it entirely.

He reemerged on the roof not that long after. Usually I would be able to tell the time more precisely, but I had been far too overheated, and had lost that functionality for a bit.

The boy…had fashioned a long cloak for me, large enough to account for even my exaggerated height. He draped the heavy black fabric around my shoulders, pulling the hood up around my cap, smoothing the fabric down my limbs. I moved slightly to help accommodate this, and as I did so, I realized—that fabric he was now wrapping around me had once been a part of his curtains. It was _all_ of his curtains, sewn together to accommodate me.

I tried to take it off, to hand it back—was he sure about this course of action? I could accommodate for my shortcomings, he had no need to sacrifice anything more for my sake, and in fact that was the opposite of my purpose, opposite of my programming. If he gave this to me, he would have far less power in keeping the sun out of his space, and I already was aware of how much difficulty the boy had when it came to sleeping. There was nothing for miles upon miles—unless it was a rare cloudy day, there would be no way for him to keep out the light without this fabric.

He shook his head, responding easily to my unaskable question. He said that he wanted me to keep it. He needed me to stay working for his own safety, and his comfort was a worthwhile sacrifice. It was a sacrifice he had made at many points in his life, and he made the same choice every time. He always had to pick the practical over all else.

I pitied him.

A thought occurred to me, as I tugged the cloak around my metallic shoulders. A deeply troubling wondering, thoughts that had crossed my mind before now brought to the forefront—had his father truly wished for such a life for his son? He had provided everything the boy had, and yet… _this_ was what he had? _This_ was his life?

It felt so deeply wrong to me, deeply flawed. If I had to create a plan for a boy to live at the end of an apocalypse, there were so many more things I would try to take into account for his sake.

Perhaps—at the very _least_ —I would have given him a way to get to Roxy, to end his endless solitude.

Although…perhaps it wouldn’t be so endless. The Game was upon the horizon, a glimmering jewel of a sun, an unavoidable fiery ball of death.

And Dirk had nothing but to look forward to it. Perhaps that had been the plan all along.

\----

Years of his life passed, Dirk growing from a boy into a teen. Still a boy, but able to handle himself a little more. His fighting had improved tenfold, and I barely ever had to watch out for him during attacks. He grew in his body and knowledge, but even still, he was so young in so many ways. I could still see that this life of his, this existence we both shared, left him _lacking_. The internet taught him much, but still the holes in his experiences were _massive_ and ever-growing, so many key aspects missing.

It only wore on him even more, to be separated from all of his friends, to be alone and forced to depend mainly on himself for his own needs. At least I could depend on him, but I could never return the maintenance he gave me to him in a balanced way. He and I would always be unbalanced, him always the creator, and me merely a simulacrum of a person he could emotionally rely on.

He never approached me in that manner, although I could see him struggling. He typically did so in private, alone and away from me or the second robot he built. He was so isolated that he thought even the companions he had built to _be_ companions weren’t figures he could depend on in that way—he didn’t understand how to go to another being for comfort, despite constantly watching stories about things like that through the internet.

Sometimes, I would catch a glimpse of him, crying to himself, silent. And I knew that the only acceptable action was for me to leave, dragging Squarewave out by his shoulders. We were not to intervene. We were not the contact he wished for. I had accepted that. Squarewave seemed to never quite understand, which was probably for the best.

\----

I waited, knowing that the day of the Game was approaching—that day he had placed all of his hopes on, that he and Roxy had been planning for years—it would soon be at our watery doorstep. Dirk was planning to depend on us in order to Enter.

Squarewave would be where Roxy was—a place that wasn’t as dangerous, so he would easily be able to do what needed to be done. I, of course, would take the more perilous route—although it wouldn’t be anything more than what I already was accustomed to. It would be my last fight against the world’s watery queen, my final chance to stick it to that monster who had terrorized Dirk for all this time.

Not that she’d come herself, of _course_ she wouldn’t. I had to be content with fighting her drones, over and over. And I would do so and _succeed_. Dirk could trust me to keep his home safe.

When the day came and he darted off to complete his altered plan—I slotted right into my place, to do what was needed. I stepped over his headless body, not even pausing for a moment in my actions. I would meet him again, in the Medium. The dead boy here was merely the price of entry.

There was nothing I would ask of him. No actions I would request him to change, no part of _my_ life that I would wish to change. I was built to serve, and I would do as programmed—as _commanded_. Not just because I was a robot built by him, but because of every role I was made to fill. As a not-father, as a guard dog, and as a replacement for a man long dead. I would protect him as a _guardian_.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the[ 'Robots of Homestuck' Zine!](https://robotsofhszine.tumblr.com/post/645813885941743616/after-some-long-wait-with-troubled-maintenance) Everyone created lovely works for the zine, I highly suggest you take a look! This is one of two pieces I made for the zine, please see my profile for the other.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> [My blog.](http://www.trafuris.tumblr.com)


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